


newly minted

by matskreider



Series: lo-fi lovers [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Photography, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 14:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14875835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matskreider/pseuds/matskreider
Summary: He’s cute, in the kind of way that makes Tuukka’s heart race. But he’s also hot in the way that makes Tuukka want to die, because there’s no real reason that one person can have all of that charm. There’s also no way that he has any sort of chance with that person, for several reasons, least of all that neither his face nor his personality are conventionally attractive.He’s edging towards drunk at this point, and closes his laptop, setting the mug on the table. He gets up and forces himself to drink some water and brush his teeth before he collapses into bed, groaning into his pillows. He had hoped that the summer of separation would be enough to temper what had started last semester, but apparently it wasn’t.





	newly minted

**Author's Note:**

> this belongs in my lo-fi verse which you can check on my tumblr [here](https://matskreider.tumblr.com/tagged/au:-lofi-lovers/chrono)
> 
> much thanks to [charlie](https://kesselin.tumblr.com/) for beta'ing <3

The library isn’t full just yet, both because it’s too early in the morning on a Saturday and also because it’s early in the semester. He promised one of his coworkers that he’d cover his shift up on the third floor, and it was the opening shift too, so it’s not like Tuukka had a lot of competition. In return, Conor said that he’d cover his Friday night shift so he could actually go out to the party a couple of his friends had invited him to. The shift itself is mostly spent doing the opening procedure, answering requests for professors and lost undergrad students whose problems could be solved over email, and then spent debating doing homework or getting started on the in-house requests.

Technically, he could get away with not starting them, but his boss shows up, and Tuukka’s not _that_ ballsy, and the thought makes him chuckle to himself.

By the time he finishes his shift, it’s noon, and the lower levels are starting to fill up. He checks out, and walks upstairs, using his ID to let him into the higher sections solely for the grad students. He gets a few double takes, but he’s expecting that; it’s hot outside, in late August, so all his tattoos are visible, courtesy of his tank top. They’re not garish, he’s a man with taste. They, coupled with his piercings though, make people jump to conclusions, and it’s not his job to catch them when they fall short of reality.

He rounds the corner, intent on taking his usual seat against the back wall next to all the windows. He almost puts his stuff down, but he sees Patrice Bergeron sitting a few tables over and everything short circuits.

Pat looks unfairly good in a soft mint tank top and black shorts, sitting with his legs tucked under him on the wooden chair. Tuukka doesn’t know how that could be comfortable. As he’s thinking that, though, Pat adjusts so his right knee comes up, letting him drape his arm over it. Tuukka bites his lower lip, steels his reserve, and walks over.

He and Patrice had a few things in common, one of which being their “Philosophy in Ethics” course they’d taken last semester. Professor Subban was big on handwritten essays instead of fill in the blank exams, and by virtue of them both being left handed, they sat together. It was the first time Tuukka can remember not having to write awkwardly, or put the test paper against his lap and change how he was sitting just for the comfort of writing. They’d started off talking and comparing notes, solely for studying purposes, but from there it had evolved into late night conversations spent on the couches of the 24hr coffee places near campus. They had a lot more in common than outwardly one would think, but after writing and handing in their final paper, they’d sort of ceased contact.

This would be the first time that they’ve spoken since the end of the semester, and Tuukka has no idea what he’s _supposed_ to say. Social graces aren’t his forte, as both his dad and Joonas like to remind him. So when he’s standing by Pat’s table and Pat looks up at him _,_ he panics a bit before asking, “Mind if I join?”

Pat seems to think for a moment, even as he extends a hand to the three other remaining seats at the table. “Go for it,” he says, and Tuukka notes how his accent seems thicker.

He sits down diagonally from Patrice, murmuring his thanks. The library isn’t full, there really isn’t a reason to double up, but Pat had said yes and Tuukka was working on trying not to read too much into things.

The French Canadian has a thick book spread out in front of him, various colored tabs sticking out of different pages. A few print outs rest on the table top in front of him, and he has a highlighter between his index finger and thumb that he spins rhythmically in thought. It’s too much work for this early in the semester, and as Tuukka pulls out his laptop, he softly asks, “What’s all that?”

Pat looks up at him, warm brown eyes tracing over the tattoo on his left shoulder, before focusing on his face. “I’m TAing again this semester, and they wanted me to look at the writing samples to judge who actually paid attention freshman year and who took English as an easy class. So far, everyone is in the second category.” He says it unapologetically, but the way he smiles and shrugs a little softens the assessment in his words.

Tuukka quietly snorts, remembering his own brush with TAing. He and his professors quickly realized that pairing him with students too much younger than him wasn’t a good idea. At least he got his current job out of it. “Sucks dude.”

Pat nods, before reaching into his backpack on the chair next to him, digging out some gum. “So what brings you to the library this early in the semester? I know you’re not TAing,” he asks, offering a piece of gum to Tuukka.

He takes it, surprised by the gesture. Then again, kindness is a choice. “Uh, no. I just got off work, so. I figured I’d come up here, answer some emails or whatever.” He’s basically trying to avoid going back to his apartment, or hang hopelessly around campus. It would have been okay, had he not handed this motive to Patrice on a silver platter. So he blows a bubble with the gum and looks away, logging on to Instagram instead.

In Pat’s defense, he doesn’t say anything, instead politely asking, “What classes are you taking this semester?” This spawns a conversation that leads to neither of them actually getting any work done, instead catching up over what they did that summer.

Tuukka learns that Patrice went home for a few weeks, because his brother got married over the summer and aside from that he’d stayed in Boston, working full time. He shares a bit of the gossip of things he’s seen in the waiting room, including one story about a 60-year-old woman who was there for hip rehabilitation and insisted on telling Patrice just how good her hips actually used to be. Tuukka has to laugh a bit at that.

His own summer was uneventful, working and training a few new hires. He’d saved up for a new camera and had gifted that to himself as an early Christmas present, and spent the summer exploring what Boston had to offer.

“Show me?” Pat asks, fully closing his book now. Tuukka nods, and Pat comes around the table as Tuukka pulls up the Instagram he has for his work. It’s got a few shots of the harbor and a few bookshops he likes, but Pat immediately points out the rooftop shots of Boston’s pride march with a low whistle.

“Those are _so_ cool. Mind if I follow?” he asks, so earnest. Tuukka blushes and mutely nods again, trying not to lean too close against Patrice. He smells so _good_ though, masculine but not too overpowering. His phone buzzes in his pocket with a notification that his Insta has a new follower.

“Wonder who that could be,” he deadpans, the quip coming out without much thought. Patrice giggles in response, moving back to his side of the table. Tuukka wants to keep that laugh with him forever.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Tuukka’s in the middle of editing a series of portraits that he’d taken during Pride, for businesses and such, who wanted the images in time for election season. He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if it sort of rubs him the wrong way, how who he is as a person is a grab for capitalism. Then again, he knew what he was getting into when he moved to America full time, so. At least it pays well.

Spread out around him is a coffee mug full of wine, with stains all down the side from previous nights like this, and two pizza boxes, open and long since cooled. His windows are open, letting in the semi-cool night air. He’s feeling just the right level of tipsy, and he finds himself clicking over to Instagram to see what exactly Patrice is liking.

The overhead shots from Pride are the first ones that he liked, which Tuukka isn’t surprised about. There’s a few of some pets that he did, which, those are always popular. But the one that takes Tuukka aback is the one of his brother from two years ago. They’d been playing shinny all day and they’d finally taken a break to relax inside. Joonas had just sat down on the couch when the semi-feral cat that he’d adopted - Pikkuleipä, for her coloring – had wandered out from under the couch. He was looking down, the light had caught the bits of blond hair peeking out from his hat, and Tuukka had taken the shot. It wasn’t one of his more “professional” ones; hell, the caption was ‘fella & feline.’ But it had a clear atmosphere to it. It was one of his favorites.

Curious, he clicks on Pat’s actual Instagram, intent on seeing what kind of pictures he’s posting. But the account is locked and private, and Tuukka audibly whines at the unfairness of his life. He could let it go, but he really does want to see what Patrice posts; he finds social media to be fun snapshots of people’s lives. Or, at least, the aspects they want people to see.

So, making sure that he’s on his work Instagram, he requests permission to follow Patrice’s account. He gets granted permission almost instantly, even though it’s 2 in the morning. Immediately he combs through, taking another gulp of his wine.

Pat has some pictures from the wedding up, as Tuukka expected. His brother looks a little bit like him, but not nearly as personable. His wife is cute too, in a kind of distant way. But maybe Tuukka’s a little bit biased in both of these assessments, since a, he and Joonas could be twins, and b, he’s gay. Whatever; it’s his prerogative. Tuukka scrolls down further, and comes across a few more basic pictures; Pat’s study space, the sunset, a few “outfit of the day” posts too.

He’s cute, in the kind of way that makes Tuukka’s heart race. But he’s also hot in the way that makes Tuukka want to die, because there’s no real reason that one person can have all of that charm. There’s also no way that he has any sort of chance with that person, for several reasons, least of all that neither his face nor his personality are conventionally attractive.

He’s edging towards drunk at this point, and closes his laptop, setting the mug on the table. He gets up and forces himself to drink some water and brush his teeth before he collapses into bed, groaning into his pillows. He had hoped that the summer of separation would be enough to temper what had started last semester, but apparently it wasn’t.

By the time he wakes up the next morning, he’s only slightly hung over. It’s still embarrassing for a Saturday night drinking alone in his apartment. He forces himself out of bed, starting to get ready to go to the gym. His phone buzzes with a text from Brad, filled with too many emojis for his tastes at this point in the day, asking if he’s ready. He sends the affirmative, and heads out of his apartment, locking the door behind him.

With the influx of college students in the area, he wouldn’t be surprised if the gym was a little more packed than usual. Brad pulls up against the curb, giving Tuukka a thumbs up with the kind of energy that made him downright annoying in the ring, but so entertaining to watch. Tuukka sinks into the passenger seat, throwing his bag into the backseat. “I don’t wanna be awake right now.”

“You never do, but this was your idea,” Brad replies, pulling away from the curb and heading further into the city. “How was your Saturday night, anything good happen? Any stories?”

“I drank by myself until 2 in the morning because I was editing pictures for work and then I got…distracted.”

“ _Ooo,_ _distracted,_ ” he says. Tuukka can tell without even looking at him that he’s waggling his stupid eyebrows.

“Not in the fun way, just. You remember that guy that I was talking about last semester?”

“Oh, God, not this again. You were worse than me with Torey. Patrice this, Patrice that; has he finally graduated?”

Tuukka’s chest tightens at the idea of never seeing Patrice again, parting after one lecture together and moving on. “No, I saw him yesterday. We kinda, like, studied together I guess? In the library after work. And then he saw my work Instagram and he was going through them last night.”

They come to a stop at a red light, and Brad looks over with both brows raised. “Which ones?”

“Um, the ones from Pride, and one of Joonas from, like, two years ago.” If his work Instagram was left pretty barren, it wouldn’t be that hard to get two years in the past. But he updates it a few times a week, every week, even when he’s not feeling good or when no one has commissioned him. It’s both a billboard for his talent and a storage space for his commissions and jobs. Patrice getting two years in the past – to the _winter_ two years in the past – meant he was digging for a good long while.

Brad knows this; Brad was the one who had encouraged him to make the Insta in the first place. Even though he was younger than Tuukka, he was a lot more comfortable with himself in a lot of respects. Tuukka had actually run into him at the health center in undergrad, when he was still trying to figure out how insurance worked and if he could get his T without needing to jump through unnecessary hoops. Brad was coming out of the back with a cough drop in his mouth and a paper bag in his hand, presumably full of more of them. Tuukka wouldn’t have known to reach out had he not heard Brad asking quietly about needles, and then saw him later on that week at a support group his therapist had recommended. There’s a lot of paperwork when it comes to his friendship with Brad, but he’d gotten him through some real shitty situations – including a brief breakdown where Tuukka thought he was going to get deported.

Fun times, undergrad.

Brad reaches over and smacks his shoulder as the light turns green. “Babe, he went all the way back? You shit, he’s totally into you.”

Tuukka hums noncommittally, twisting the ring on his index finger. Brad sighs and turns on the radio, letting the nonsense of Sunday morning radio DJ’s fill the rest of the brief ride until they got to the gym.

“Ready for me to kick your ass?” Brad asks, grabbing his bag out of the back.

“That would require you to be able to reach my ass,” Tuukka replies as he does the same. Brad pouts and smacks his arm again, and Tuukka flips him off, as is usual with their friendship. They go inside, signing in and then heading back to the locker rooms.

It’s a concerted effort that they both get there while the other lesson is still in progress. They change and wrap what they need to, pulling out their gloves and walking out, just in time for the first of the guys from the other class to start filing in.

Brad takes one look at Milan and groans. “I think we’re doing one on ones,” he whines. Tuukka knows that Brad might like the competitive aspect of going against someone Tuukka’s size – though weight wise, they were much closer – but Tuukka likes the one on ones. It’s good for slipping back into the basics, and that’s what he wants.

By the end of it, his shoulders are on fire and his abs are screaming at him with every exhale. “I think my legs are made of fuckin Jello,” he mutters, staggering back to his locker and draining the rest of his Gatorade.

Brad hums in agreement, sinking down to the bench between the lockers. “I feel ya dude. But you were looking good, your right side is looking stronger.”

The edge of Tuukka’s mouth curves up in a hint of a smile. “Thanks.” His phone buzzes as he goes to pick it up, and he scrolls through catching sight of a few missed texts and notifications from various apps. “We still on for Dunkin?”

“What kind of man do you take me for?” Brad answers from where he’s rinsing off.

“A punk,” Tuukka answers, which makes Brad throw his head back and laugh. Tuukka finishes putting his piercings back in, and then they head back out into the August heat. It’s much sunnier now, but Tuukka’s craving grease right now. “Do you have stuff for breakfast at your place?”

“Uh….” Brad shrugs helplessly. “I dunno, I think Torey went shopping, but it might be my week coming up, so I don’t know what we have.”

Fuck it, he’ll deal.

They go through the drive through, with apparently every other Bostonian, getting their coffees. Brad drops Tuukka off at his place so he can shower and take some meds for the inevitable soreness that’s going to sink in, with a promise to be back in 20. They’re both quick to be ready, and they don’t live that far from each other either, so it’s not that unreasonable that Brad would say to be there in 20. But it’s also a Sunday, and that means that Torey’s not working, which means there’s a 50/50 chance Brad will be delayed by sheer sentiment alone.

Tuukka uses the mean time to clean up a little bit, condensing the pizza into one box and tucking the other one away, and washing out his wine mug. His iced coffee is in the fridge, trying to keep it cool, but he makes a mental note of what food to get when he has a chance to go grocery shopping again. He’s in the middle of debating the pros and cons between getting fresh vegetables and frozen ones when Brad texts that he’s here.

Tuukka grabs his backpack and his iced coffee, and heads downstairs. They wind up going to one of the breakfast places near campus. It’s late on a Sunday, so brunch is in full swing.

“Never thought I’d be one of those brunch gays,” Brad mutters as they stand in line, both of them on their phones. Tuukka hums in agreement, even if they’re only here for the breakfast sandwiches.

“Hair of the dog isn’t high on my list of priorities right now,” Tuukka replies, beating his level of Candy Crush.

“Oh yeah I forgot; your version of classy is wine in a mug.”

“Bite me, Bradley.”

They place their orders and take the sandwiches outside, sitting beneath the veranda. It’s warm, nearly oppressive in the direct sun, but the shade helps to mask it a bit. They make small talk, Tuukka talking about his classes and Brad keeping him up to date with his jobs. Tuukka’s content to pass most of the afternoon like this, even mooching off the free wifi for his phone, until someone runs by.

It’s a little weird to have people working out in the middle of the day, especially in the summer like this, but the wind is going so it’s not _as_ bad as it could be. Tuukka was already sort of spacing out in that direction while Brad chattered on about an article that he had read the other day, so at first he thought that he was hallucinating. But no; that really is Patrice jogging by, shirtless and tanned in the summer sun, in small black shorts that make Tuukka’s mouth dry.

He must make some kind of noise or something, because Brad stops talking as Patrice simultaneously breaks out of his mental zone to smile and give him a little wave, before continuing on the rest of the block.

“Wow, he was hot,” Brad remarks. Tuukka just hides his face in his hands, groaning. It doesn’t take that long for Brad to connect the dots. The low whistle and consolatory “Oh _honey_ ,” does nothing to ease his racing heart.  

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week passes pretty dully. He sees Patrice a few times in the library after his shift, but he doesn’t go over. He’s nervous, and it hurts to admit it, but it’s the truth. At least by the time Friday night rolls around, he’s more confident that he’s probably not gonna see Patrice again. Their classes aren’t that similar and besides – Tuukka runs in his social group of punks and queers, and Pat gives him _some_ kind of friendly vibe but he doesn’t wanna put himself out there too much.

Well, more than he already has.

The house is kinda small, but it’s not too oppressive, considering the host was D Phi. The windows are open, so most of the heat escapes out into the night. There’s a few people smoking something outside, and most everyone else seems to be nursing some kind of beer or mixed drink. Tuukka has a solo cup of wine, but he supposes that’s the benefit of knowing the host; better alcohol.

He’s leaning against a pool cue, watching Alex and Brandon circle the table, like they have any idea of what they’re doing. Beside him, Elaine also leans on her cue, swaying to the beat of the music from upstairs. Her green hair looks a little bit like ocean water as the lights change outside, the light filtering down through the windows into the basement. She runs her tongue over the spider bite piercings on her lower lip, and Tuukka idly wonders if he should get some.

His ears are almost pierced out, between the industrial and the various helix’s along both ears. Nipples are out, and he _definitely_ doesn’t want his dick pierced, but he’s not entirely opposed to a navel ring, or focusing on his mouth. He does bite his lips a fair bit though, so maybe he shouldn’t.

He takes another sip of his wine as Alex lines up for a shot, but a combination of lack of skill and alcohol makes him completely fan on it, the cue ball barely rolling forward. He groans in failure as Brandon yells at him good naturedly for fucking up on their chance to come back. Right now Elaine and Tuukka are up 2-1 in the series, and looking at the balls left on the table, they only have the 2 ball and the 8 ball left.

“You’re just fuckin pitiful,” Tuukka says, pushing Alex off the edge of the table so he can take his shot. The 2 ball zings into the pocket, and from there all that’s left is for him to do is call which pocket he wants to send the 8 ball into. He points to the middle pocket on the far side, and Elaine moves to stand near it, marking the pocket. He leans down, feeling out which angle he wants to take it from, and he sinks it.

Alex and Brandon are already whining that he’s somehow cheated, even as Elaine reaches out to fist bump him in congratulations.

“Don’t hate ‘im cuz you ain’t ‘im,” Elaine retorts, flicking Brandon’s chest as he walks by.

“Whatevs, I’m getting more liq. Hold my spot,” he says, before fading into the rest of the crowd of the party.

Tuukka’s in the middle of racking the balls up for another round, when he feels a small tap on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting to see Elaine, but instead it’s Patrice. He’s in just shorts and a collared shirt that’s unbuttoned, revealing the tank top underneath, but what catches Tuukka’s attention is the faint line of glitter along Patrice’s cheekbones. He’s smiling, somewhat expectantly, and Tuukka realizes he must have been asked something.

“What?”

“I said, mind if I join?”

Tuukka wants to say yes, even though he promised to keep Brandon’s spot for him. He looks at Alex, who shrugs, and then looks at Elaine, who rolls her eyes and hands Pat her pool cue. “I’ve been itching for a smoke anyway. Play nice, boys,” she says, turning and melding into the crowd just as Brandon returns.

“Hey, what happened to Els?”

“She left to give, uh, what’s your name?” Alex asks, brows furrowed. Tuukka doesn’t know why he’s even bothering – his memory is shit when he’s 3 sheets to the wind like this.

“Patrice,” Pat offers, unfailingly polite. His accent is slightly faded now, but it still cradles the vowels and consonants of his speech in a way that makes Tuukka’s heart melt. He’s so fucking gone, and he’s not sure what to do about this.

“Sweet. I’m Alex, this is Brandon, we were Tuukka’s sophomore year roommates,” he says, leaning back into Brandon because apparently standing up is only for sober folk.

Pat hums, and looks to the table. “So who’s going first?”

“Well we’re down 3-1 now, so I guess we can break,” Brandon offers, shuffling Alex to the side, setting him against the wall. He lines up as Tuukka puts the rack away beneath the table.

Patrice sidles up to him, leaning close enough that Tuukka can feel the heat radiating off of him. It’s like sunshine and whiskey, and Tuukka can’t blame just the wine for how he feels. “Do you wanna take our turn or should I?” Patrice asks, and Tuukka pulls himself out of his own head.

“That depends; do you wanna lead?” he asks, glancing at Pat.

Pat shrugs, blowing a bubble with the pink gum in his mouth. Tuukka’s not sure if the shimmer on his lip is lip gloss or saliva from the gum, but he wants to find out more than he’s sure is healthy for him. “I can take it.”

“You ever played before?” Tuukka asks. Pat looks up at him through his lashes, his smile gentling into something softer.

“Do you want to show me how? I hear rules are different by friend group.” The cue ball has rolled to their side of the table, and Pat shuffles over a bit to take it. It puts him neatly against Tuukka’s front, and he barely backs up enough so that when Pat bends down to take the shot, they aren’t touching anymore. Pat looks over his shoulder when he moves away, raising an eyebrow, as if inviting Tuukka to come back.

He bites his lower lip and settles a hand on the small of Pat’s back, leaning down a bit and nudging Pat’s cue a smidge to the left. “Gives it a better spin,” he murmurs, and he feels moreso than hears Pat’s hum of agreement. He takes the shot and the 7 ball sinks immediately into the far corner pocket.

Pat looks at him with a grin, and murmurs, “Must be my lucky charm.”

Tuukka’s pretty sure he’s staring at him with a dumb look on his face, but he wants to kiss Pat more than he probably should, so he mumbles something and looks away. Alex and Brandon, however drunk they both are, are giving him matching looks of disbelief. Tuukka’s not even sure if he’s whined about Pat to them just yet, but at this point, he may not have to.

If Patrice is disappointed, he doesn’t show it. He focuses instead on the game, lining up for the next shot, and Tuukka immediately starts second guessing himself. What if he read it wrong? What if he was supposed to do more? Or less? What if this was his chance and he fucked it up royally?

Pat’s next shot brings the 5 ball close to the lip of one of the pockets, but it doesn’t go in. Tuukka clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Tough break.”

“Well I didn’t have my lucky charm,” Pat answers, without missing a beat. They watch as Alex, moderately more coordinated now, lines up to take his shot. He fans on it, as seems to be the theme of the night, and pouts about it. Tuukka laughs, before he swallows down another gulp of wine before he takes his shot. He feels Pat’s hand settle on the small of his back, and though he knows the events are unrelated, he finishes off the work Pat had done of getting the 5 ball in the pocket.

Tuukka looks over his shoulder and catches the way Pat is looking at him – a bit flustered, which Tuukka’s used to, but with lips slightly parted and dark eyes that take his breath away. “Must work both ways,” he manages, voice hoarse.

Pat grins and reaches over to Tuukka’s cup of wine. Tuukka hands it to him, and watches as he takes a sip of the wine. He doesn’t flinch, despite the fact that it definitely has some lemonade in there too. “Only one way to find out, eh?” he asks as he hands the cup back.

He tucks the pool cue into his elbow, settling his right hand on Patrice’s back as he takes another sip of wine. Somehow, he winds up taking a sip from directly where Pat had, and he only knows this because the rim of the cup tastes sugary sweet, and is a little bit sticky.

Lip gloss and bubblegum.

They win that game, and the next, but at that point Tuukka’s reaching the other side of being drunk, where all he wants to do is take a nap. Pat offers him a ride home – apparently that sip of wine was about all he had the entire night – and Tuukka shyly agrees. His car smells like him, a sweet masculine smell, and Tuukka does all that he can not to fall asleep in the passenger seat as Pat drives him back. 

He wants to kiss Pat goodbye so badly, but he doesn’t want to risk whatever might be between them. So he quietly says thank you, and gets out of the car, making his way into his apartment building. He texts Brad _he’s so cute and he smells so nice, he even drove me home, i’m so gone on him;; fuck me dude_ right before he passes out.

When he wakes up in the morning, it’s to two notifications on his phone. The first, his reminder that this morning he has to administer his T. The second, a reply from Brad that only had the eye emojis over and over again.

He can do the T later, and he’s not dealing with Brad’s bullshit when he has a hangover, so he rolls over back into bed and falls back asleep. It’ll still be there when he wakes up.

 

* * *

 

Classes start assigning actual work the following week, which means that the library picks up foot traffic. Tuukka gets less hours than he did during the summer, by virtue of actually needing to go to class. He still spends a fair bit of time in the library though, since it’s overall cleaner than the conditions in his apartment. Occasionally he sees Pat, who waves at him every time, which Tuukka returns with a nod of acknowledgment. He hates that he does this, but at this point it can’t be stopped, and besides, they get a lot of stares anyway.

He’s sure that, for two white guys, they’d make a great diversity photo for the college.

His own photography was slowing down a bit, but he didn’t mind – it gave him time to actually get his homework done, which he appreciates. A couple of assignments he gets done early, just so he can enjoy the weather of Boston before it inevitably becomes a snowy hellscape again.

On one such trip, he has his camera with him, headphones in as he weaves through traffic on his penny board. He’s already gone past where Brad and Torey live, and he’s started circling back, when he sees Pat walking out of a salon with the softest mint green hair he’s ever seen. It’s a stark contrast to the dark brown he’s so used to, but it _works._ He skates over, pulling one earbud out and twirling it around his finger nervously.

“Fancy seeing you here.” God he’s a fuckin moron.

Pat looks surprised, but grins at him, tucking his phone away in his back pocket. “You too. Busy working?”

“Nah, just kinda looking for some inspiration, and then I saw you, so…”

Pat blushes a little bit, but that could also be the afternoon sun. “I inspire you?”

“Well, your hair color, but uh. You’re also pretty great.”

At this, Pat raises an eyebrow. “Want to take some now?”

“Oh…” The suggestion has him already thinking of places he could take Patrice that would highlight the natural angles of his face, or the new color of his hair. He selfishly thinks that Pat would look good on the roof of his apartment building, and the view it has of the rest of the city. But then he starts thinking about Pat in his actual apartment, and then that gets him started down the path of envisioning him like he’d seen on his run that one time.

“…Unless you’re busy?” Pat offers, shuffling a bit in place. Tuukka realizes he hasn’t actually answered him.

“No, um. I’d love to. I was just thinking of places to take you, but I guess it also depends what kind of pictures you were thinking?”

“Why don’t we walk around and see what we can find?”

Tuukka nods and gets off his penny board, kicking it up into his arms. They walk in silence for a bit, before Tuukka quietly asks, “So, about that party the other weekend…”

“Yes?” Pat prompts. Tuukka can already hear the smile in his voice.

“Did you really think that we were that lucky? Together?”

“I mean, we won every game we played. And in Subban’s class, neither of us failed when we tested next to each other, so. I think there’s something to be said for that. And I wanted a new profile picture for Instagram, and then you showed up on a day where we both have nothing to do. So maybe it’s not old fashioned luck, but I think the universe likes us,” Pat says, looking up at Tuukka with a grin. “Why you ask? Got another pool tournament to go to?”

Tuukka shrugs, feigning casual as they walk by a café. “No reason, just making small-” He cuts himself off as he looks in the window of said café and finds a macaron the size of his palm, in the exact same shade as Pat’s hair. He points to it, and Pat kinda stares at him before the revelation kicks in. “Want dessert?”

They go in, buy the treat, and grab a table in the café. It’s cute, with pastel walls and black and white tile floors, with what looks to be ornate patio furniture as their chosen seating. Tuukka starts adjusting his camera settings for shooting inside, and asks Patrice if he’d rather do poses or candid’s. Pat looks him in the eye and says, “I trust your judgment,” and that shouldn’t make Tuukka’s heart race but it does.

So he talks to Patrice, more comfortable hidden behind a camera, in the din of a rather busy café. The light goes through his eyelashes in a way that casts delicate shadows across Pat’s cheekbones. He adjusts his focus and takes a few that are more centered around the details – whether he actually shows those to Pat or keeps them for himself would be another thing to figure out.

After the café, Tuukka feels more relaxed, and more in the zone to take some photos. Patrice picks up on this, and soon conversation is flowing, even as Tuukka hangs back to get certain pictures, or asks Pat for a few more poses or locations. It’s a relaxing time, and they wind up circling back by Tuukka’s apartment building by the time the sun has begun to set.

They’re both laughing as they come around the corner, Pat having just finished telling the story of the time he pushed his older brother down the stairs in a laundry basket and broke his ankle back when they were in middle school.

“For a guy who looks so sweet, you’re kind of a badass,” Tuukka says as his laughter settles down.

“For a guy who looks like a badass, you’re actually very sweet,” Pat replies, nudging Tuukka with his shoulder briefly.

Tuukka very nearly short circuits, unused to genuine compliments from anyone who isn’t Brad. “…Really?”

“Well, I mean. We did spend all afternoon telling stories and shitty jokes, and you paid for my macaron so…yeah, very sweet.”

By now, they’re only a block away from where Tuukka lives. He has to charge his camera anyway, and he also promised Pat that he’d show him a bit of his editing process. He does his best work at night, but apparently he makes stupid decisions any time of day, because before he can stop himself, he’s asking Pat to come over. “You don’t have to, like, stay more than you want to. But uh, I tend to edit at night so I can show you what I do? Maybe order something for dinner?”

It’s a thinly veiled attempt at…well, even Tuukka doesn’t know. But Pat gives him a soft, slow smile, and quietly says, “I’d like that.”

His apartment is cleaner than it had been in previous days. The floors were clear, his laundry was done, and aside from the work sprawled across the coffee table that doubled as a floor desk, everything was in its place. The entire apartment is white, with hardwood floors, that sort of emphasize the barrenness of the place. He has a few framed posters up, but most of his money goes towards his education and his camera.

It’s only as he’s dropping his keys onto the hook by the door and leaning his penny board against the wall that he remembers that in all of their study sessions, they had never once gone back to his place. It had always been at Pat’s, full of kind warm colors from his carpets to his throw pillows. The black and white space of Tuukka’s apartment is stark compared to what Pat must consider homey, but it’s too late now.

“Make yourself at home,” he says as he kneels by the nest of cords taped to the floor and velcroed to the side of the coffee table, plugging his camera battery in to the charger. He puts the SD card into the reader, plugs it into his computer and turns it on. It’s all busy work to keep his hands occupied, while he hears Patrice slowly making his way around the apartment. He thinks he hears him speaking in French, but he’s also speaking rather softly, so Tuukka’s not sure what he heard. 

The menu pops up on his screen and he sets about copying all the pictures in their raw files to his computer. The first ones to show up are the portraits from the café. There’s a few where Pat’s looking outside at the passersby, and of course the ones with the shadows across his face from the sunlight. Tuukka focuses in on is the one where he’s holding the macaron in his hand, and he’s looking askance. The afternoon sun is turning both the cookie and his hair the same kind of heightened green-blue that he thinks will be both a challenge but very rewarding to edit later.

He drags it to his desktop to look at later, then stands and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Have a preference for food?” he asks, going back to the front door and toeing his sneakers off.

“Whatever’s fine,” Pat answers from much closer than Tuukka thought he would be. He barely refrains from jumping, but he must not have been that successful because Pat is covering his mouth with his hand, as if that’ll keep the giggle in.

He’s only taller than Pat by a couple inches, but it means that Pat’s looking ever-so-slightly up at him. He forces himself to look back down at his phone, intent on finding something to order, but his phone screen is soon covered by Patrice’s hand. Looking up, he’s met with the same look Pat had given him when they were playing pool. Except now, there’s no wine in his system and the only sound is the cars passing by outside, distant and muffled.

“Stop me if I’m reading this wrong,” Patrice murmurs. Tuukka leans down before he can stop himself, and then they’re kissing, and he tastes as sweet as he looks. They separate, each breathing a bit heavier than before, and then they’re back on each other, making out against the door of Tuukka’s apartment. Pat’s hands weave into his curls and it feels so fucking _good._

Somehow, Tuukka picks up Patrice and turns them so Pat is the one against the wall, who squeaks a little bit into the kiss, even as he wraps his legs around Tuukka’s waist. He holds him up high enough that questions of what he is and isn’t feeling aren’t asked just yet, because he’s feeling good and he doesn’t want it to end. They’re both letting out little whimpers, and then Tuukka slides a hand up along Patrice’s back, and he absolutely _moans._ Tuukka wants his hands free, he wants to be able to touch Patrice and see all the noises he makes, and it’s that thought that has him bringing Pat back into the living room and laying him out on the couch.

The way Pat looks up at him when he finally pulls back, with bitten red lips and a hunger in his eyes that betrays exactly what he wants, goes right to his dick. Then Pat takes his shirt off, and Tuukka can’t help his little groan. All the perfection that he’s pined over for literal months is laid out on his couch, and he’s not sure if he wants to cry or if he wants to make Pat cry. Honestly, the answer is somewhere in the middle.

Pat smiles at him as he reaches up, threading his fingers back into Tuukka’s hair and pulling him down for a kiss. His body is so warm and strong, and he tastes so addicting. He kisses down Pat’s neck, grazing his teeth over the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He feels more than hears Pat’s small gasp, and he does it again, before asking, “Can I?”

He gets an enthusiastic nod in response, so he bites down, worrying the skin between his teeth for a brief moment. The noise Patrice makes will stay with him for possibly the rest of his life. He kisses over the rapidly forming bruise before moving further down Pat’s body. He has next to no body hair, but Tuukka’s not sure if it’s personal preference or if he doesn’t grow that much naturally. Either way, after leaving a bite along Pat’s ribs, he presses kisses to the warm skin beneath his mouth, listening for when Pat’s breath hitches.

He’s so focused that he doesn’t catch Pat’s hand trying to make it down to the hem of his shirt. But Pat’s not an asshole, because he tugs on the fabric first to get Tuukka’s attention. “Do you wanna take this off?”

Tuukka freezes, pulling back completely. Patrice lets go and sits up, putting his hands behind him on the couch to support his weight. “Hey, it’s okay. We don’t, like, have to do anything. I just…really wanted to kiss you, and I…” He averts his gaze then, and Tuukka tilts his head.

“…I really wanted to kiss you too,” he says softly.

 Pat looks hopefully up at him. “Really?”

“Mmhmm. Still do. And other stuff, but like…” He trails off, hoping and praying to whoever’s willing to listen that Pat’s not going to make him second guess everything about himself and his judgment of Pat’s character.  

“In the future?”

“Yeah, in the future.”

“You wanna do this more than once?”

Tuukka doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods.

Pat kisses him softly, so chaste for a guy who just had his tongue in Tuukka’s mouth. “I’d like that too,” he whispers when he pulls back.

Tuukka grins and returns the gentle kiss, which gets both of them going again. Not that either of them mind.

Eventually, food does get ordered and Tuukka does explain how he edits his pictures. Pat’s a good listener, even if he’s got hickies all over him and Tuukka’s got a few too, on his neck and collarbones. Tuukka also learns just how handsy Pat can be once he has freedom to touch. He waits for annoyance to come, but it never does, because as much as Pat’s in his personal space now, he’s very clearly trying not to push any boundaries that had been set before.

They part with a kiss and shared cell numbers, and Tuukka’s never felt so overwhelmed before in his life.

 

* * *

 

The next morning when Brad picks up Tuukka for kickboxing, he takes one look at his neck and reaches out for a high five. Tuukka shyly returns it as he gets in the car.

“So who’s the lucky guy?” Brad sing-songs as he pulls away from the curb. Tuukka doesn’t answer, but his smile apparently tells it all because Brad puts the car in reverse and parks it out front of Tuukka’s apartment building to scream incoherently into his hands for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you! I didn’t think anything was going to happen!”

“You give me all the details, right the fuck now young man,” Brad demands from where he still has his head in his hands.

Tuukka sighs and recounts nearly everything, from running into Pat out front of the salon to making out on the couch. “I mean, he took his shirt off, which was like…” He sighs, knowing words won’t be able to describe how he felt in that moment. “It was great. And he asked if I wanted to take mine off-”

“Did you?” Brad asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. Tuukka shakes his head, then remembers that Brad’s driving, and probably shouldn’t be looking at him in the first place.

“No.”

“And he was okay with that?”

“Yeah! We kinda, like, talked a bit. He said that he’d like to do it again, and I did too, and then we kinda…started back up again.”

Brad sniffles and wipes a fake tear away. “My baby boy, growing up in this world. So proud of you Tuuks, and it’s great that he wasn’t an asshole about things.”

Truth be told, Tuukka knows that that remains to be seen. It’s possible that Pat could back out, or that he could decide that Tuukka’s not “enough” for him for whatever reason. Which, Tuukka knows the reason, but he doesn’t want to think too hard about that. Pat seems like a nice guy, and he wants to believe in the possibility that this will end well. Brad seems to read that out of him, because when by the time they walk out of their lesson, Brad offers for Tuukka to come back to his place. After a brief internal debate, he accepts, and that’s how Tuukka winds up, 45 minutes later, walking into Brad’s apartment.

Torey’s nowhere to be found, but Brad explains that he’s covering someone’s shift. “So we have the whole place to ourselves,” he says as he flops onto the couch. Tuukka snorts, going to sit on the floor with his back against the couch. Brad’s hand finds its way into his hair, gently scrunching the curls as he watches TV on his phone. Tuukka hums at the gentle touch, opening his computer to finish up editing the pictures to send to Patrice.

They pass a few hours like this, before Tuukka emails the finished products to Patrice. He instantly gets a text that reads, _tysm!!!_ with two sparkly heart emojis following. He elbows Brad, showing him the text, and Brad laughs. “He’s adorable. What are you gonna reply?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Tuukka whispers, looking back down at the phone. He sees the three little grey dots appear again, before dropping down. He bites his lower lip as he types back a generic response of _no problem, happy to help_ before adding _whatcha doing?_

Tuukka groans at his reply while Brad pats his head in sympathy. “I’m literally an idiot.”

“Hey you already got the boy in your apartment, and he _clearly_ likes you. Don’t sell yourself short.”

His phone buzzes with the next text, and he would have avoided looking at it, but he got the same pop up on his computer.

_in the lib, at our table – my ac broke in my apt and i’m dying haha_

“...Can-”

“Yes, I can drive you,” Brad says, swinging his legs off the couch and standing. “Come on, I’ll even stop for you to get some food.”

Tuukka blushes, but packs up his stuff and follows Brad out the door. He hides the to-go bag from the same café as before, where Tuukka also grabs three medium iced coffees, one with a _lot_ more sugar in it than the other two. Brad rolls his eyes when he gets in the car, but when Tuukka hands him one of the drinks as payment, he gets a broad smile instead. When Brad drops him off at the library, he squeezes Tuukka’s shoulder in support. “You got it dude, and text if you need anything.”

He has to kind of sneak in the pastry bags in his backpack, but taking the elevator to the fourth floor means he doesn’t have to hide his drinks from anyone he passes through the stacks. He’s got a whole swarm of butterflies in his stomach, but they ease when he sees the familiar soft green hair bent over a laptop.

Pat has headphones in, so Tuukka approaches the side of the table, reaching out and gently kicking at Pat’s chair. He startles, pulling his headphones out and looking up at Tuukka, eyes wide. When he recognizes him, his features smooth into a little shy smile, but when he catches sight of the coffees in Tuukka’s hands, he looks like Tuukka’s actually holding a puppy. “ _Please_ tell me one of those is for me,” he whispers, reaching out with grabby hands.

Tuukka hands him the one significantly lighter in color. “Of course.” He sets his backpack down on the chair across from Pat, taking his same seat diagonally from him. He blushes as Pat takes a sip, moaning softly.

“Wow, I really needed this. Hey, wait…isn’t this the café that we went to?” Patrice asks, studying the logo on the cup. He looks up for confirmation, and Tuukka sways the small bag containing another pastel green macaron back and forth. Pat’s jaw drops as he reaches out a hand expectantly. “Treat please.”

Tuukka raises an eyebrow, moving the bag back a fraction. Pat pouts, wiggling his fingers. “S'il vous plaît?”

The French sends a small thrill through Tuukka, and he sets the bag in Patrice’s waiting hand. The words _good boy_ leap to the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them back, biting his lower lip instead. Pat winks at him as he takes the bag back, and shoves his books out of the way so he can get the perfect angle of his snack.

Tuukka tries not to judge – after all, Instagram is how he’s even able to have spending money in the first place – and he takes a seat, pulling out his laptop and _The Mind’s I._ He can at least get started on his outline. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Pat typing something, then hesitating and erasing it, and Tuukka can’t hide the smile. “Caption problems?”

“Ugh, yeah. I wanna say _local bad boy treats me right_ but I’m not sure how forward that is,” Pat says, casually taking a sip of his coffee. “Have any opinions?”

He doesn’t want to overthink it, and he knows what his aesthetic says about him. Most of it’s manufactured to keep people at an arm’s distance, so he can let them in on his own terms. But Patrice has passed all the tests with flying colors, and he’s a little bit tired of overthinking things when it comes to Patrice.

“Sounds accurate to me.”

Pat smirks and taps his phone screen. “Posted.”

**Author's Note:**

> pls talk to me abt them, i love them so much


End file.
